Issue 1525 – River Edge – August 15, 2024

Today’s issue of Gleanings is a little different and totally self-serving. I hope you will forgive my indulgence.

Over the past while, I have been writing a series of (hopefully) soon-to-be-published children’s stories targeted at upper elementary school children.

 The River Edge Farm stories (currently A Surprising Arrival (summer), Fall Fun at the Farm, Christmas at River Edge (winter), and Springtime at the Farm) have evolved out of storytelling and drawing with my grandchildren.

The sketch is a concept drawing of Willow Badger. His final appearance is yet to be determined as the books get illustrated.

I’m sharing the first two chapters of book one to introduce you to the characters and stories and to whet your appetites for when they do come out.

The stories are undergoing final writing and professional editing. They may change somewhat, but this will give you a taste.

I’ll keep you posted.

Be blessed

Kevin

Chapter 1

Life was always an adventure at River Edge Farm. Willow Badger was often surprised by what might happen or who might come by.

Willow Badger, a young bachelor, has lived his whole life on the farm, like his parents before him and their ancestors. Badger families have been at River Edge Farm for as long as anyone can remember. Some folks say the Badger family was here before the farm.

Willow’s sett, his home, is the old farmhouse. The house embraces him in its cozy warmth during the winter chill, and he often finds comfort in its cool shadows when the summer sun beats down. If the comfy chair near the fireplace could talk, it would tell great stories from long ago.

The front door was solid wood, and a large stained-glass window showed the Badger family coat of arms and their motto, “Always Faithful, Always Learning.”

The Housemouse clan lived in the walls of his house. They were quiet and respectful of Willow, his visitors, and his space. They never caused trouble, but they loved playing tricks on him. For fun, the mice would swap an empty peanut butter jar for a full one, hide Willow’s favorite coffee mug, and more. When they weren’t joking with him, the mice were so quiet that Willow often forgot they lived with him.

At times, the cat with no name, who was afraid of mice, also stayed at the house, but that’s a story for another day.

Over by the farmhouse, there’s an ancient two-story barn. It was covered in peeling gray paint with white edges and smelled like sweet straw and hay. Whooburt, the kindly, wise old barn owl and Willow’s close pal, lived in the barn with the Barnmouse family and other critters. Like the badgers, these families have lived at River’s Edge longer than anyone can remember.

In front of the house and barn, the farm stretched up and down the Meander River across from the mouth of Ribbon Creek. The deep, broad waterway wandered around the countryside for miles before flowing to the sea. Along the way, every cove and island held its own story.

Ribbon Creek started as a tiny stream in the Faraway Mountains. It grew as it flowed through the Thunder Hills and into the Meander. On its long journey, the creek swept over waterfalls, widening and slowing as it emptied into the Meander.

Massive willow and oak trees grew by the river on the South side. Pinedale Forest sat on the North Shore, a mix of pines, willows, and other trees. These trees provided cozy holes, nooks, and crannies where birds and squirrels lived and nested. 

Two ancient stone bridges on River Road made access to the forest easy from the farm.

The Great Willow sat between the badger’s home and a lazy bend in the river. A well-known landmark, it’s the biggest willow tree anyone has ever seen. The branches hung down like waterfalls, almost touching the ground. Four folks holding hands couldn’t reach around its trunk.

In season, the willow’s long, narrow green leaves were like tiny banners swaying in the breeze. They whispered tales of wonder and songs of adventures to all those who took the time to listen.

Under the giant tree, down by the river, the Badger kept a small painted wooden table and three wooden kitchen chairs at the sitting spot. Their surfaces were polished smooth by years of folks sitting and sharing stories and laughter. 

Friends from the farm and forest would stop by for a visit any time of the day or night throughout the year. You might find anybody from the next-door neighbor to royalty seated on one of those seats.

There’s a hand-painted sign with big blue letters that reads “the sitting spot.” That’s what all the farm folk called Willow’s favorite place. Lots of different flowers were planted by the sign. Something was always in bloom from the earliest spring days until the tail end of autumn, and you could savor the smell of fresh flowers as you sat there.

As usual, early one morning, as the sun began rising, Willow took his steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee, black, please, two sugars, with two pieces of delicious, golden-brown toast covered in peanut butter and marmalade and headed out to the sitting spot to enjoy the morning bird songs.

Willow’s stroll down the path to the river was abuzz with activity. Bees whizzed between the flowers and little fountains added to the lively scene. Small benches were placed in the garden, providing many quiet spots to think or places to sit and visit.

Mug in hand, Willow enjoyed watching the view change before his eyes. This morning, the flowers were various shades, primarily of sunny yellow. Purple and yellow Johnny-jump-ups, the badger’s top pick for flowers, smiled and peeked out from every nook and corner of the gravel.

As he sipped his coffee and headed to the river, Willow felt a sense of anticipation, an unusual feeling on such a beautiful, peaceful morning.

Let’s spend some time with him and find out if Willow had reason to be uneasy.

Chapter 2

Deep in thought, Willow arrived at his favorite spot beneath the Great Willow. To his surprise, Whooburt, the wise old barn owl, was sitting on a low branch. When Willow saw Whooburt out so early, he got curious.

Whooburt didn’t usually come out in the morning. Owls were night-time folk who slept during the day and went on nighttime adventures.

Even in the darkest skies, owls are incredible night hunters who can see long distances. Little escaped an owl’s sharp eyesight, and when Whooburt wore his thick glasses, his vision was better than most.

Few people knew an owl’s other senses were keener than their sight. They could catch a whiff of a mouse moving under deep snow or hear a squirrel sneaking up the backside of a tree. Whooburt’s super senses helped him when he flew around the farm and area at night.

“Good morning, Willow. Did you sleep well?” asked Whooburt, his words a bit mumbled by a big yawn.

Smiling, Willow replied, “I always do, Whooburt. I always do. You’re not normally up when I arrive. How was your night?”

“Good. You might say I had a hoot,” Whooburt chuckled as he fluffed his feathers. He always appreciated a pun or riddle. “Lots of critters were about, but no trouble anywhere. I did see something strange, though.”

Willow’s brow scrunched up. “Interesting. As I walked over this morning, I sensed something was out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I’m not sure what is up.” 

Pausing momentarily in thought, his eyes focused on Whooburt, Willow asked curiously. “So, what was unusual?”

Stretching his tired wings, Whooburt explained, “I flew downriver to visit my cousin, Meadow the Screech Owl, and imagine this, Willow! As I soared through the moonlit sky, I spotted a pint-sized boat floating on the river. It was so small it looked like a toy bobbing on the water. That is where things began getting a little odd.”

Looking evening more puzzled, “Oh? Why?” asked Willow.

The owl shared his experience, “The little sailboat was unusual enough, but the captain was the teeniest, tiniest mouse I ever saw. He wore a crisp white sailor’s suit with big brass buttons. The moon reflecting off his buttons caught my eye.”

Willow’s eyes got big as he pictured a tiny mouse wearing a crisp white sailor’s suit standing on the deck of his miniature ship, the moonlight glinting off his big brass buttons.

Remembering the scene, Whooburt said, “If it had been darker, I would have heard his little craft sailing along or smelled him, but the reflection drew my eyes first.”

Adjusting his glasses, Whooburt continued. “It surprised him when I dropped in to check him out.”

Willow chuckled, “I bet it did. You fly so quietly that no one knows you are coming.”

As Whooburt talked, Willows’s mind raced ahead, whirling with questions. Who was this traveler? Why was he coming? Was that why I was a little jittery earlier this morning?

Whooburt laughed at the memory, “I think he was worried I might eat him. Once he calmed down, we chatted a bit, and he told me of his plans to come by here. I thought you might want to look out for a visitor.” 

The owl paused for a moment, “It might take a few days before he arrives. I don’t think his little boat sails fast.”

His eyebrows raised in curiosity, Willow spoke, “A mouse captaining a sailing ship, that’s a new one for me. Did he say where he was going or why he wanted to stop here? Did he tell you anything about himself?”

“No, but he had a funny name. He introduced himself as Johnathon Remington Pifflemouse, a long name for such a little mouse, and told me he was out for an adventure.”

Willow commented. “That’s interesting. It is very curious too.”

Whooburt scratched his head, trying to remember more, “He was pleasant enough, but he was evasive about his final destination and only mentioned a stop here.”

As he gestured with a wingtip to make his point, Whooburt continued. “But what was most peculiar was he was keeping something beneath a heavy tarp on his foredeck. Something much larger than his boat would normally carry was tied down securely.”

“Something hidden under a tarp?” Willow asked, furrowing his brow as he considered the image. “What would a tiny mouse be hiding?”

“I couldn’t see it, but whatever was on the deck seemed important,” Whooburt declared with authority. “He said he was out for an adventure, but I detected an air of mystery about him. 

There was something he wasn’t telling me,” mused Whooburt, tension evident in his gaze. “I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”

Nodding in appreciation, the badger responded, “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” Whooburt yawned. “Well, I’m going to call it a night. We owls need our beauty sleep.”

As the owl flew off to the barn to snuggle in for a proper day’s sleep, Willow offered, “Rest well, my friend.”

Whooburt hooted, “Thanks. You have a good day, too.”

Willow walked in circles, thinking hard about what Whooburt had told him. He glanced at the winding river, now shimmering under the sun’s light, wondering when this odd little sailing mouse might appear.

Visitors were common at River Edge Farm but rarely unannounced total strangers, and there had never been a mouse who was a sailboat captain. This was an unusual start to Willow’s day. Perhaps his thought that things seemed slightly off hadn’t missed the mark.

As the sun rose higher, casting a warm glow over the landscape, Willow sensed the day held more mysteries than usual. He couldn’t stop thinking about Pifflemouse’s name. It felt like a puzzle waiting to be solved, and he was eager to uncover the truth about the mystery awaiting him.

All content (c) 2024 K.F. “Kevin” Corbin under the pseudonym Grandpa Corbin